


Lonely night

by BlueMushroomDevil



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, Crowley Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Drinking, Drunk Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Sad, im sorry its 3 AM right now, it was supposed to be happy fluff but this happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 04:03:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19760206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMushroomDevil/pseuds/BlueMushroomDevil
Summary: Crowley is drunk and sad.





	Lonely night

**Author's Note:**

> This turned really dark at some point, I'm sorry.  
> This was really meant to be a soft fic  
> I'm like really sad right now because of this

The moon's shine was blinding that night. The light was persistently trying its best to get through every crack, every small hole in a wall. If you woke up at any point during that night, you would be confused for and even in quite a few cases, anxiously getting up in a hurry and checking the time that it really was after midnight and you weren't missing that appointment with your therapist, where you planned to rant about how a coworker was rude to you and how your car broke down last week and you had no money to repair it.  
But you left out the part where you brought overpriced bottle of wine three days in a row and how most of its contents painfully ended up in a toilet.  
The point is, that the light was so bright, that unless you had curtains covering your windows, you weren't getting much sleep.  
That annoyed certain half-demon, who was trying his hardest to fall asleep for last two hours.  
Usually, he fell asleep without much problems, but in recent years he had found more difficult to fall asleep if the room hadn't been completely pitch black. It was bordeline infuriatin for someone who slept for most of a century at one point. The demon, or half-demon if you want to be precise, groaned in annoyance. He really wanted to sleep, atleast for a few measly days. He was trying his hardest to remember, when was the last time moon shined this brightly. But just thinking about that blasted moon gave him more headache and seeing as he already had one, he jumped into a logical conclusion that getting drunk wouldn't really do any harm at this point. With annoyed hiss, he eventually got out of the bed and went into his kitchen for a drink.  
The half-demon, whose name was Crowley, really didn't like nights like these. It was quiet, too quiet.  
Almost so quiet he could hear his own thoughts. That was never a good thing, he decided, as he took a large swig right out of the bottle and immdiately winced. It has been on his counter for a few days, not only it was warm, but also the taste was really off. He looked at the time, it was almost 1 AM.  
With defeated sigh, he lightly banged his head against the refrigerator door. For a brief moment, he wondered about what his friend might be doing. He didn't even consider that his friend might already be asleep, knowing him friend, he was probably nose deep in some old, smelly, dusty book. Crowley felt nausea building in his stomach, slowly making its way to his head and realized, that perhaps the opened bottle had been for more than a few days. Usually, that didn't even bother him, but now he fell more emptier than ever. ¨  
And it was in this fragile, fleeting moment he let himself think of his Fall.  
He immidiately took another large swig of the disguisting liquid and let himself slide on the floor, his back leaning against the refrigarator.  
It's not like he had regrets about it, it happened and it was best not to think about it.  
But he won't, he can't forget how it happened.  
The burning, blinding pain, his lungs screaming for air, the way his wings started burning and for a brief moment he thought:  
Oh, this is it.  
For a weak few seconds, he considers if dying would have been better.  
Crowley bangs his head on refrigarator hard, loud sound of impact echoing through the dark room that was still drowned out by his sudden, surprising sob.  
He really shouldn't cope with this alone.  
Or sober, he thought, as he took yet another swig of the warm alcohol, much larger than the previous one.  
And the damn moon's light seemed brighter as ever, as if it was taunting him.  
He runs his hand through his raven black hair, pulling on the strands lightly, as the bottle hits the floor, breaks and spills the nasty smelling liquid everywhere.  
And for a brief terrifying moment, he is regretting not saving atleast a little bit of Holy Water from Aziraphale.  
Not only the regret itself, but the memory of his friends snaps him out of his drunken misery for a few very long seconds, which for a 6000 year old demon, is nothing, but for a half-human, that's all it takes. Crowley grits on his teeth, he feels disguisted with himself, feels dirty all over. He wants nothing more than to crawl into his bed and never ever wake up.  
Maybe Crawley really was more fitting, he thinks for a moment, before banging his head against the fridge door once more, harder this time. The pain is almost stronger than the empty hole he feels in his chest.  
Almost.

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be fluff between Crowley and Aziraphale  
> im so sorry


End file.
